


End of the Line

by jendavis



Series: Sam and Bucky Endgame Post Game Fics [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Arguments, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Late Night Conversations, M/M, how it should've started
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 18:41:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18722749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jendavis/pseuds/jendavis
Summary: Sam and Bucky take up Steve on that dinner invitation.  Some conversations are overdue.(Thanks TitiB for giving me the idea!)





	End of the Line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TitiB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TitiB/gifts).



Sam shifts the oversized bag on his shoulder, feeling vaguely foolish for insisting on bringing it now that he's had a few hours of travel to get used to the idea of flashing suddenly into existence without landing in the middle of a battlefield. 

"Still good with this?"

"Yeah." Bucky's checking his watch. They've got just under eighteen hours before they're going to be pulled back. "You?"

Sam glances down at the flower pot on the porch, and tries knocking, first. 

\--- 

The house is exactly what Sam would've pictured, for the most part, if a bit larger. Creaky floors and kids rooms converted into guest rooms and a drawing studio for Steve next to Peggy's office. 

"I'm afraid my ride is arriving at seven," she explains, apologetically, waving them all back towards the hallway to continue the tour. "I need to be in DC by tomorrow to harass some congressmen over brunch. That'll give you all some time to catch up."

Steve steps aside, letting her pass. "Did Darlene fix the hotel?"

"Right next door to Harrison," she confirms, grinning mischievously at Sam. "Just in case he tries to make a break for it."

\--- 

They catch up over salad, white wine, and chicken casserole, which is probably the first actual _meal_ either him or Bucky'd had in two weeks. 

Steve and Peggy have three kids- Samantha, James, and Nathan, all of them grown- and two grandkids. Steve draws editorial cartoons for the community newspaper while Peggy sits on boards that are, to hear her say it, every bit as politically headache-inducing as SHEILD had been. 

He and Bucky tell them about the reconstruction efforts: Rhodes' heavy lifting with the militaries of eight nations, Fury getting back in with some of his old contacts. Barton quitting, loudly and _fuck you_ finally, and then sending them an article about some archer out on the West Coast who'd been calling herself Hawkeye for the past three years. Sam fills them all in on Potts and Hill going off the grid and reappearing three weeks later having arranged a deal with Shuri, and, to some extent, T'Challa. 

Steve talks about the things that are different, in this timeline and doesn't take credit for any of the things that are better- and many things _are_. New York never fell. Thor and Loki are working together, but haven't been spotted in years. Most people in the neighborhood had never heard of Sokovia. There's a plan in place for Ultron, just in case.

By the time Peggy's driver-slash-assistant shows up to take her to DC, the break in conversation is welcome. Steve walks her out, Sam and Bucky pretend not to eavesdrop as they say their goodbyes, and Steve returns with a bottle of whiskey. 

"You guys looked like you could use something stronger," he smirks, grabbing some glasses from the sideboard and nodding towards the back patio. "And Peggy, well. She doesn't have the tolerance for it."

"She's, what, eighty two?"

"Eighty three, not a super soldier. But really, she's always been more of a vodka girl."

Bucky laughs- an easy, real laugh- for the first time all night. "Hell, line 'em up, gramps." 

"Pretty sure I could still kick your ass, Buck."

"Yeah, yeah. I'd like to see you try."

"Me too," Sam smirks, checking for his phone, just in case.

\---

The talking's easier, looking out over the fenced-in back yard, once they've finished comparing Steve's peaceful, nice reality with the one they'll be going back to in just a few hours. 

Bucky's got stories about Steve for days; apparently he's just been saving them up for when they'd be funny. Most of them involve Bucky dragging his scrawny, wheezing, bedraggled ass out of fistfights with neighborhood kids. 

The description of Steve's star-spangled chorus line getup has Sam laughing before Bucky even gets to the good part. 

"-and there he is, right? Fresh out of rescuing the entire hundred and seventh, going toe to toe with generals, and then there's Peggy, flirting with him, and he just-" Bucky's eyes go comically wide- " _freezes_. Like his life's flashing in front of his eyes."

"How do you even remember that?"

"Been remembering a lot," Bucky sobers a little and shrugs, reaching for the bottle; Sam can't help checking to see if _this_ time, the question's a sore spot. 

"No," Steve shakes his head, laughing. "I mean, you were drunk off your _ass_."

\--- 

Sam can hold his own, most of the time, but they're into the second bottle- apparently the serum even gives _octogenarians_ an edge- and he's down for the count. 

"I gotta go pass out." He pushes himself up out of his seat- more unsteadily than he'd like- and shakes his head when Bucky starts to stand. "No, you guys do your thing. I'm good."

Bucky frowns, concerned. "You sure?" 

"Yeah." Looking at Steve, he asks, "upstairs, second door on the right, right?"

"Right," Steve confirms, laughing. "Want some water?"

"I'll grab it."

"See you in a bit," Bucky says, with just enough concern that Sam _damned_ well better make it out of here without stumbling. 

\--- 

He dozes, and he wakes, and remembers, easily enough, where he is. The window's been left open; he hadn't noticed at first, too distracted by his own weight settling into the mattress and the swaying of the entire room. It's still dark; he thinks the cool breeze is what'd woken him, but now he's not so sure. 

"I'm just _saying_ ," Steve's voice says, "I'm just surprised that you're all gung-ho about going back to war."

"What the hell else am I supposed to do, huh?"

"Anything you _want_. I know you never wanted any part in the fighting, and I know you remember it."

"I remember thinking that, well, shit, the draft sucks, but at least it'll get me clear of the vice cops." A chair scrapes against the porch floor down below. " _You_ , on the other hand, signed us both up for a hell of a lot more."

"Both, huh?" Steve's unimpressed. "How d'you figure? Seem to remember you seeming like you were already pretty well up in it when I dragged your ass off that table in Krausberg."

"First brush with the serum trials, good times." There's a bitter edge to Bucky's laugh. "I wouldn't have been on that table in the _first_ place if you-"

Steve cuts him off, cold. "If I _what_ , Buck?"

"Nothing."

Sam exhales, forcing himself to relax, relieved that Bucky's not pushing it. 

But apparently he'd forgotten about Steve. "Bullshit."

In the minute it takes Bucky to respond, Sam almost gets up and storms down there ten times. "You think they just grabbed me by chance?"

"They grabbed the entire 107th."

"And killed most of them. Yeah, that I _do_ remember." Bucky goes quiet for a minute; when he continues, Sam is already straining to hear. "Turns out, they were interested enough in you that when I went all name and numbers, they knew who I was. Dunno if they had your paperwork or, but they thought I knew something. And had a good sense of irony."

Steve's quiet for long enough that Sam wonders what would happen, now, if he went downstairs. Or even risked the creaky floor to cross the room to shut the window. It feels _wrong_ , listening in like this, them _fighting_ like this. 

"Look, man," Bucky sounds tired. Resigned. "I'm not trying to guilt you, here. Point is, ever since then, I've been in one fight or another. Apart from herding goats, it hasn't left me much time to just go out and pick up a trade."

"You've got time now," Steve's voice is quiet. Impossible to tell whether he's smiling or not, but the heat's left his tone. If he's going to go down there and interrupt, now's probably the time. 

His foot's just touching the floor when Bucky replies. 

"I've got _Sam_ now," he says, angry again, "who's got your boots to fill, your shield to carry, and no serum to help with the heavy lifting. And you can't pretend you weren't pointing me at him in the first place." 

"I didn't point you anywhere you weren't already looking, and you know it." Steve sighs. "And it wasn't about _that_."

"Oh yeah?"

"I mean, you were transparent as hell, asking about him all the time. I just thought, I dunno... the two of you could go out dancing. Grab dinner, or something."

Bucky goes quiet; Sam wonders if down there, on the patio, he's holding his breath, too. "You know," he eventually says, amused, "I _did_ manage to find dates on my own. On two continents even, before you showed up."

Sam can't help the spike of jealousy. It's not that Bucky'd had a life before they'd met. It's just that he's hardly heard anything about the good parts. 

"Yeah, I kind of figured," Steve says, eventually. "Heard the talk around town, just never saw."

"You were a scrawny punk that was already putting his face into every fist in town. You didn't need any more targets on your back."

A chair creaks. Steve, when he asks, sounds concerned. "Things are different though now, right? You don't think he's getting targeted?"

"The target painted on that damned shield's what I'm worried about. So yeah. To answer your question, _that's_ why I'm not herding goats or laying bricks. Much as it pains me to admit it, you unbelievable pain in the ass, you were right about him."

"Which part?"

"Fuck, I don't know. All of it?" 

\--- 

The patio door slides shut, and Sam pretends to be asleep until he hears the creaking on the stairs and realizes it's a lost cause. 

Bucky, of course, notices the open window the moment he steps into the room, dropping his jacket on the chair by the door.

"You heard all that?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

The light's not great in here, but he can see the bloody-minded grin and the tight set of his jaw as Bucky sits on the edge of the bed and pulls his boots off. "Don't be. Saves me from having to explain it." 

"You did seem talkative tonight."

"See?" Bucky stands up to shuck his jeans. "All that time wasted on breathing exercises, you coulda just bought be a drink."

Sam eases over, making room on the bed- which, now that he thinks of it, could've been awkward if Steve hadn't been so irritatingly right about the two of them. "Would've, if I'd known you'd been asking _Steve_ about me."

Bucky's not all that drunk- Sam's not sure he _can_ be- but his eyes are soft and tired when he smiles in to kiss him. Pulling away, he smirks, pointedly. "Shaddup."

He does, if only for a minute, letting Bucky climb into bed and roll over to face the window. They've been doing this just long enough that he knows why he's doing it, not quite long enough to call him on it, and now's not the time to talk about it. Not when he's wondering if Bucky'd done the same thing for either of his guys on either of those continents. 

Seems the least Sam can do is figure out how to talk about Riley first, before grilling Bucky on any of _his_ exes. 

Bucky's settling into the mattress, already reaching back to drag Sam's arm over his side, and Sam relaxes, lets himself be pulled in. 

"He's got a point, you know," he says, after a minute, against Bucky's shoulder, because some things are just more easily said like this- quiet and close. "You don't owe anyone anything, and that includes me. So, sorry if I railroaded you into-"

"You didn't." Bucky cuts him off, but then goes quiet. If not for his hot and cold hands squeezing Sam's against his chest, it would be possible to believe that he was already sleeping. 

"You were the first thing I chose, of my own free will, when the world wasn't in the middle of ending."

Sam's not usually one to freeze, afraid that the next words out of his mouth will be enough to ruin everything. So he waits a beat, and lets them both play the admission off. "Had you at hello, huh?"

Bucky shrugs against his chest; the laugh that follows feels better.

"More like. After stasis, when you told Steve to shut the hell up."

He knows, almost instinctually, what he's talking about. Steve'd called, stressed and exhausted and pretending to be neither, to see if Sam would be willing to talk to Bucky. There'd already been a flight en route to pick him up, and when he'd arrived in Wakanda, he'd been surprised to find T'Challa and Okoye looking _that_ happy to see him. T'Challa'd made pleasant conversation as they'd left the landing strip and the infirmary; Okoye'd paused at the outer door of the infirmary and turned to him, saying, "Should Shuri return to find all her efforts undone by outsiders, know that Wakanda will recognize it as an act of war," which had loosely translated as _please see to your annoying white friend_.

"She jokes," T'Challa had said, diplomatically. "But your assistance is most welcome, all the same. Preferably before Shuri returns from California."

Following the attendant down the hall, Sam remembers hearing Steve's voice, confident and insistent, telling Bucky, "I know it wasn't you, you're not _culpable_ for-" 

Sam had opened the door to find Bucky standing against the far wall- bare feet, arms crossed, murder in his eyes- and Steve, sitting in the chair that hadn't been upended, looking like he, too, was at his wit's end. 

"Steve, man, shut up. I think he hears you." He remembers sounding sure of himself, though he hadn't been. There hadn't been time, yet, to sit them both down and talk it out. Bucky hadn't yet known that Steve was trying to listen, understand and help, nobody's yet realized Steve's _pushing_ was making Bucky doubt his own recovery. It'd taken the better part of a week to sort it all out. 

Shifting to get the pillow out of his face, he squeezes Bucky's hand. "You remember that?"

"Course I do," Bucky turns his head, enough that Sam can see that his smile's a bit more confident, now. "Ain't every day a knight in shining armor shows up to save you from a knight in shining armor."

\--- 

He wakes up without opening his eyes out of practiced habit. 

Sunlight. Sam, his heartbeat against his forearm, already awake. Kitchen noises, the smell of coffee and eggs. 

Steve's house, Steve's guest room. 

Opening his eyes, Bucky stirs enough to untangle his limbs from Sam, who starts getting up like he's been contemplating it for a while now. 

"Got a few hours yet. You still asleep?"

"Mmm." They're still on vacation, or at least as close to one has he can remember having, and he's pretty sure sleeping in is part of the deal. He catches Sam's arm, without opening his eyes, and tugs him back down to the bed. Closed-mouth kisses him on account of morning breath, and lets him go. "Be down in a bit."

"All right."

\--- 

He doesn't sleep, but lying there with no alarms or alerts or attacks-of the external or internal kind- is kind of nice. He can almost hear them talking downstairs. Their voices are too muffled to make out without concentrating, but it's just Steve, just _Sam_ ; he doesn't feel the need to. 

Except for once, because he hears Steve saying his name, and the fact that he's trying to be quiet about it catches his attention. 

He hears Steve saying his name, and it's followed by the words. "-and I trust you, too, obviously. So consider this a suggestion more than a warning, and just make sure you do right by him."

"Aye aye, Cap."

Bucky's too busy burying his face in the pillow, hiding his embarrassment from the pictures on the wall- mostly framed photos of Steve's progeny- to hear whatever comes after.

Then he blinks- realizing, suddenly, that he actually _had_ managed to doze off for a while- at the sound of laughter coming from outside. 

"-know how that damn Parker kid does it, I _swear_ ," Sam's grumbling. 

"Hey, it wasn't _that_ bad."

Rubbing his eyes, Bucky stands up, follows the sound to the window, squinting against the late morning sun. 

Sam's running back towards the middle of the yard, grabbing his shield and jogging back to the porch.

"Okay, so, I _think_ what's happening," Steve's saying, " is that when you're hooking your fingers, you're still blocking the slats. Try holding it like this." Peering down through the screen, Bucky watches the two of them, down below. Steve's got the shield held up flat- reflecting the sunlight _right_ into Bucky's eyes- as he shows Sam something underneath. 

"Stay sharp," Sam warns over his shoulder, as Steve backs up onto the patio.

"Hey, I've caught that thing more times than _you_ have," Steve jokes, as Sam twists back to wind his throw. "Think I got it."

Steve doesn't, though, because the moment the shield's sent flying, the line it traces across the yard curves out and arcs sharply back, beginning and ending with Sam.


End file.
